


Redux

by rocketgirl2



Category: Castle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketgirl2/pseuds/rocketgirl2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beckett can't escape her past, but this time Castle's there beside her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redux

**Author's Note:**

> So, last night's Castle was pretty much amazing in my opinion; don't know what you think, but I loved it. And the teaser for next week's episode...wow. Because I'm impatient and can't wait a whole week, I had to write fic pertaining to it. So prepare for this to get thoroughly Joss'd next week. :)

Rick Castle knows that Beckett is a fighter. Smart, strong, and sexy to boot; on top of that, untouchable. But that's never stopped him from trying. He knows that if he wants her, really wants her, he's going to have to prove it to her in a way that even she can't doubt. Maybe that's why they're not together yet—because he can't seem to let go of the parts of himself that make him so unpredictable and unreliable, but also so interesting. Maybe he won't ever get rid of them—maybe she needs a little bit of something that isn't set in stone, anyways.  It's not likely she'll agree, because she's also stubborn as hell, but he wouldn't wish her any different.  Kate Beckett is a very distinct personality, and maybe that's why he likes her so much.  She refuses to defer to him, which is different, but not in a bad way.  It's something he thinks he needs more of.

He knows these things about her; accepts them as fact because he's never known her to be anything else. No matter how tough the crimes are to solve or how much they remind her of what happened to her  
mother—she makes it through; solves the case and comes out fighting. He doesn't expect to ever see her any other way.

And then she hears the news and everything changes.

***

  


The death of Beckett's mother is not something she likes to talk about. That's a lesson Castle found out the hard way, and he's not tried to push his luck on the subject again. People may not think it, to hear some of the things he says, but he really is a kind person. And he cares a lot about Beckett.

He's aware that he's not always done the best thing regarding her—knows that it was only partially for her sake that he dug up her mother's case and partially to satisfy his own curiosity. By the time he told her what he'd found, of course, that was all for her. It just so happened that, by then, he'd crossed one too many lines to come out of it with his honor intact.

There had been yelling and glaring and a lot less conversation than usual, but there had been no tears. Kate Beckett didn't— _doesn't_ —cry.

So when Castle looks at her and sees her truly crumble for the first time it hurts him almost as much as it must be hurting her.

He's used to dealing with women in hysterics—for some reason, he tends to attract the type that overreact to everything. Knows how to calm them down; knows just what to say to show them that no, it's not really the end of the world and he's sure things will turn out fine, see, doesn't she feel better already? But this—what's happening here—can hardly be counted as hysteria, because it's not as if Beckett is overreacting. She has every reason to feel this pain, especially because—as Castle's theory goes—she didn't let enough of it out before, no matter what she says. And though he's written about the hero with a tragic past before, it's not the same as seeing it in real life. This time, he has a woman to comfort and no plan guidelines to walk him through it.

He grabs her hands, helps her up from the street—no way he's going to leave her there to cry. She doesn't seem to realize what's going on, so he loops one of her arms around his waist and walks with her, slowly, to the nearest bench. Thanks God for the public park system and their strategic locations; sits down with her and puts his arm around her; pulls her close; lets her cry and doesn't say a word.

She'll be either insanely mad or incredibly grateful when she pulls herself together again, but whichever it is, he's beyond caring. She needs someone _now_ , not later, and if she ends up hating him for this, then so be it.

She's hated him before, with decent reason, and they made it through that.  He doesn't think anything of the sort will happen again.

Her tears slowly abate and Castle sits there, hardly willing to breathe, wondering if he's more at fault for this than he originally would have thought. If he hadn't done his snooping; hadn't found out what he had...would they know, or would it just have been another isolated murder case? It's impossible to say and useless to dwell on; what's done is done and that's the end of it. But he cannot help but second-guess himself, because the consequences are so great.

If it hadn't been for him, they might not have brought her mother into it at all. Beckett would be fine right now; over at the crime scene asking questions and taking notes instead of falling apart on a park bench, and though Richard Castle has always found the tragic a bit beautiful, he cannot see any of that here.

This could be all his fault, and if it does something to Beckett, he'll never forgive himself.

He can tell by the way that she tenses up under his arm that she's realized what's happened—feels himself start to tense because he's scared of her reaction, more so than he would ever admit. She doesn't say anything, just does her best to even out her breathing and turns away, careful to not catch his eye. He watches her; still doesn't say anything, because she has to be the first to speak. Neither of them move for a second, caught by the indecision that both binds them together and keeps them apart.

"Thank you," she says at last, sniffling somewhat stubbornly and still studiously avoiding his gaze.

She gets up and walks, not toward the crime scene, but toward the empty street in front of them. Castle takes this as a cue to follow.

"Are you all right?" he asks her, wishing he could come up with something better to say. He's a bestselling author, for heavens sake, and all he can do is sit there and spit out clichés like an idiot because she's obviously anything but okay. _Okay_ people don't go on ten minute long crying jags while they're at work, and they definitely don't do it in front of people they've been struggling to look strong in front of. The phrase is so grossly inadequate and yet—there's nothing else he can say, because he doesn't know her well enough yet.

She doesn't answer, not that Castle expects her to; just stands there staring across the street at the cheap drugstore, who's sign is an obnoxiously bright shade of pink.

"I thought I was done with this," she says at last, eyes not moving from where they are fixated, directly away from him. "After so many years, thought I was done. Was done, until you came along," and here her voice breaks; Castle almost reaches out and lays a hand on her shoulder, but thinks the better of it.

"Even after that, I didn't think I'd have to look at it again. I didnt want to bring it up just because of some evidence you may have found, because what if I didn't find the answer? What if there was still nothing that would help?"

She pauses, and Castle takes the time to realize how lucky he is that she's telling him this, considering he doesn't even deserve it.

"And here I am," she says, voice suddenly turning brittle and adding sharp laugh at the end of the phrase. "Guess I couldn't get away from it."

Castle wants to tell her that really, nobody can escape their past, but he doesn't think this is quite the moment for it. So he just stands there like he has been, feeling more than a little disoriented, because this is not the Kate Beckett he thought he knew.

"It just hurts," she continues, more quietly now, "to know that, with all the time and energy I poured into this case, I missed something so simple, yet so important."

It's quite the confession, and Castle guesses that these are thoughts she's never dared voice before—that her tears just a few minutes previous were not only for the loss of her mother, but because she was mad at herself for failing.

He wants to tell her that it was not her fault; that she couldn't have hoped to know without the ME telling her; that she had been under an enormous amount of stress and it was amazing she'd made it to work at all. But he doesn't say these things because he knows that she doesn't want excuses; that what she needs to do now is prove herself.

"Can't believe I missed it," she says.

"I know," Castle says, then, "I'm sorry."

She turns to face him now, looking, if not completely composed, 80% of the way there—and in her eyes is that spark he knows so well that means she's going to catch the bastard this time, and she won't rest until she's done it.

"Sorry?" she quips. "It's not you that brought me here tonight."

 _No, but it's my fault the case is connected to your mother's_ , he wants to say; doesn't, because he's hoping that Kate Beckett is finally glad for what he told her.

Beckett turns back to the street again; sighs, purses her lips. She's really and truly going to be okay, at least if she solves this case, and Castle doesn't hate himself quite so much anymore. Wouldn't do it again, maybe, but then again, he might: once she solves this case, she will have finally gotten the closure she was searching for all those years ago.

There is the sound of car doors closing in the distance and Lanie walks up to stand by Castle; doesn't say anything to alert Beckett to her presence but stands there and watches, then looks at Castle.

He feels her eyes on him and looks down. Without words, she lets him know that she's trusting him with Beckett this time—but he'd better not screw up again.

He nods his thanks, gives her a short smile to say he understands. She walks off.

The squad cars pull out of the alleyway where the body was found and peel off down the street; there's no doubt a lot of work to be done. Beckett watches them go then turns back to Castle, a hint if a smile playing around her lips.

"Well," she says as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, "I suppose we should go."

Castle half-smiles, half-nods, still unsure of how to deal with this version of Beckett.

They walk over to the her car, the only one left now, and climb in without words. Castle likes to think they've reached an understanding, at which no words are necessary.

"And Castle," says Beckett as she turns the key and the car comes to life, "None of this had better turn up in Nikki Heat."

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit is love!


End file.
